The Bet: 2
by Kozga Nitt
Summary: A sequel to 'The Bet', including Near, this time, risking a month without his games and activities. Hints of NearxMatt, M-rating for profanity, NearxMello, and other different things.
1. A short beginning

(Note - Well, children, results came in fast. Much fucking faster than I really intended, honestly, but that's okay. You gave me what I was looking for, n' now I'm surprisingly happy. But I had a feeling that Regularity would conquer your minds and convince me that a crack fic would be more of a nuisance than a story, so I'm gonna write it, again. You read in the introduction what this baby's gonna be about, so I need not explain what we do here. But I may sprinkle a hint of OOC, considering that this is_ my _interpretation of what Near on withdrawal looks like, okay? And I'd be willing to bet every video game I own that he would be rather hyped up, and a bit PMS-y. But with school pounding a merciless hammer onto my head, and with my oh so feeble social life slipping down the drain, I may be a bit slow on updates. So be gentle, be patient, give me constructive criticism, and let's get this show on the road!)

Temptation. Such a simple word. Children learn how to spell it around the age of 9 years, and know it's synonyms by the age of 12 years. Yes, a simple word, indeed. Yet such a powerful word. Temptation brings humans to sin, which brings them to death. Temptation leads people to do things that they don't want to do, for exchange. Things that they think will make them happy, but afterward, the reward is bittersweet. There may even be times where temptation leads to the betrayal of something. The reward might not even be there by the time the person has fulfilled themselves. The word temptation can be many things. A simple word, a powerful act, a gamble. . .

Near sat against the wall of the room he and Mello shared. Optimus Prime was pinched awkwardly between his kneecaps, which is something Near found that he never did, the action figure staring up at him. Near stared back, his eyes almost glazed over in sorrow. On either side of him were stacks upon stacks of board games, puzzles, boxes of racecar tracks and other action figures, rubik's cubes of all shapes and sizes, and a mountains, it seemed like, of other children's things. All of these things he was storing in Wammy's office in just a few minutes, while he served his bet with Matt. The bet was simple. He wasn't allowed to play with his toys and games for a whole month, and if he succeeded, he would receive every Street Fighter action figure known to the Japanese. But if he failed to succeed, then he would owe Matt a thirty-minute long, un-censored home video. Of Mello and himself. Making love like two wild animals. And it was to be watched by everyone in Wammy's House. The orphans, the staff, L, Roger and Wammy himself. Everyone. Near reached his hand to the top of the piling boxes of games and things, letting his hand stroke the top of the box. He was going to miss these things that he held dear, for as long as his mind could take him back in childhood. A knock rapped against the door. Near didn't respond, yet the door still opened, revealing a dash of golden blonde hair, jet black clothing in its midst. Mello stood, towering over the almost sulking young boy in front of him.

"You did it," three simple words escaped Mello's unimpressed lips. Near didn't move a muscle. He knew a lecture of sorts was about to begin.

"I can't believe it. You actually fucking did it, Near." Near still didn't move. It was almost as if, in Near's mind, Mello wasn't scolding him.

"It's almost as if you didn't fall for the same thing, Mello." Mello leaned to the side, and folded his arms across his chest.

"Yes, Near. I _totally_ bet a fucking sex video for a couple of action figures." Near felt his patience for the situation thin, quickly.

"Leave me." Mello gave him a look that made his blood boil slightly.

"I don't think I will, Near. This is the stupidest decision I think I've ever seen you make." Near had had enough now. He almost withdrew into the mountain of children's play things, his eyes shadowing over.

"I swear, Mello, if you don't leave me alone, I'll break my nose again, and blame it on you." Mello glanced at the white bandage covering Near's still tender nose, and scowled.

"You wouldn't." Near reached for a cardboard box used for chess boards, and held it in front of him, waving it up and down, acting as if he were aiming for his nose.

"Try me." Mello immediately turned on his heel, and stormed from the room. Near could hear him say something close to 'bastardized'. He clutched the box of chess boards to his chest, secretly apologizing for almost using it as a nose-breaker. He felt guilty for dragging Mello into the consequences of the bet he had just made, but the bet was sealed. He had let his own desires get the best of him, and now he was paying. In the form of a very pissed off love of his named Mello.

(Note - This is short for a reason. This is almost like a preface, okay? Stay tuned, please.)


	2. A Bad Call

(Note - I received no reviews from the last chapter I posted. N' I'm kind of wondering if you guys still believe in me. But nonetheless, my internet's fried again. To the point of where I've forgotten the password I need to get with it, and it won't connect with anything else I do. So I'm forced, probably, to transfer my stuff onto a flash drive, which is a risk, and transfer it to through my mother's computer. 'sigh' This is gonna make life suck. Suck badly.)

Near felt a twinge of irritation evaporate into the air around him as he stared Matt down, breathing down his neck like a leech, watching intensely as he brought a sword down upon the head of a bandit, animated blood pouring from the victim's wounds, before he dropped dead in front of Matt's powerful-looking warrior-like character.

"You know. . ." Matt uttered, putting his Xbox controller on the floor, once he had made sure no other bandits would attack his now vulnerable character, "If you wanna play Fable so much, Near, I can set you up a game, and teach you how to play." Near's focus cleared at mention of that, and he straightened himself, shaking his head slightly.

"I don't think that video games are right for me. Besides, it would be against the bet to do that, wouldn't it?" Matt considered, then began to reach forward, plucking a second controller from in front of the small television he was playing video games on.

"I would allow it, Near. Besides, you never play video games, so how would I know that this would be your first time playing them? They become like cigarettes and alcohol. Well, to me, they do." Near almost frowned, as he sat beside Matt, as the red-head looked thoroughly through a stack of Xbox games.

"So I take it that I'm going to play anyway, regardless of what I try to convince you?" he inquired, as Matt opened the console for his system, plucked Fable from the inside of the CD case, and replaced it with a different one, closing the console again, and handing Near a wireless remote. He held it awkwardly in his hands, attempting with all his might to hold it like Matt held it. As companies for the new game flashed onto the screen, new words took their place. Deep-voiced chanting filled Near's ears as the title screen brought him to outer space. The word "Halo" was printed across the screen now. Near gulped. The game already looked intimidating. Matt excitedly chose a new game, typed the word 'near' in the space for the name, and made Near a silver Master General. Near almost dropped the remote as it flinched in his hands, vibrating so abruptly. Matt couldn't help but chuckle.

"That's the feeling of getting hit, just to let you know. Don't let it happen too often, or you'll die." After saying this, Matt gave him a look, as if he were contemplating something about Near that intrigued him.

"What's wrong?" Near asked him, nervously. Matt dropped his remote, and gently plucked the remote from Near's hands, moving his thumb up and down dexterously as he selected an icon on the screen that read 'Campaign'.

"Instead of 2-Player, let's just let you do you own game, and I'll guide you." Matt replaced the remote in Near's hands and stood to sit behind him, slightly straddling him, looking over his shoulders.

"Are you sure about this," Near began, uneasily. Matt placed each of his fingers over Near's, helping him to more efficiently grip the remote, and positioned his fingers correctly, helping him tap the 'OK' button, which had a bright green A on it.

"You have to learn to crawl before you can walk, Near. Besides, it's not like I put you on Legendary mode." Near's eyes narrowed.

"What's that?"

"The hardest mode there is. Where aliens of all sorts laugh at your feeble attempts to survive." Near stared in slight fear now at the loading screen, as Matt wove a short, dramatic metaphor of the hard modes of Halo. "Where the weaponry and lifespan of your opponents are so powerful you feel the urge to press reset and try all over from the start." The loading screen vanished, and before Near knew it he saw himself on the screen. When he was looking out of the eyes of the character on the screen. Was this the supposed Master Chief? He was in a capsule of sorts. Near's mind went numb as time went by, Matt's fingers guided him through basic commands, and he tried to commit these commands to memory, he traveled, and became prey of gruesome creature that didn't look much like the aliens he use to play with, but resembled them. He somehow managed to get through this block of aliens, probably with the hands of the one awkwardly straddling him, but helping him with the game. Near rested his chin on his propped knee, and tried to concentrate on the game. The more he hesitated in shooting, or in acting, the more Matt's fingers would possess him, and do it for him. Neither said a word. Until Near's reality came back to him, and he had the sense of someone leaning on him, or rather, into him. He didn't want to look behind him, because he knew who it was, but he wanted to see the expression on Matt's face, compared to the way his body leaned against his own.

"What are you doing. . .?" Near almost whispered, breaking the deafening silence that was beginning to build. Matt seemed to come alive just a little, tightening his grip slightly around the remote, and Near's fingers, making him feel just a bit more uncomfortable.

"I'm relaxing. If I were you, I'd follow my lead. Playing video games is suppose to be a luxury, not a chore. Enjoy it, Near." Near raised his gaze to the screen, seeing again out of the eyes of his Master Chief. He was in the middle of nowhere, yet his character was still poised, plasma gun in hand, ready to shoot anything or anyone at any given time.

"Where. . .do I go next?" To Near's surprise, the fingers possessing his own slipped from the remote, and fell to Matt's side, yet he still just about leaned on him, in the most awkward of ways.

"Just wander around a bit. I'm sure you'll find something somewhere. Though you're on Easy mode, the areas are still chock-full of monsters." Near hesitantly placed his hand on the analog direction stick, and pressed it forward. Master Chief began to walk. So did Matt's fingers, once again.

.BreaK.

"Near, where have you been all day?"

Near walked right past Mello, his legs moving as quickly as they could, without him breaking into a run. Mello stood from against the wall, and followed after him. Without succeeding to grab him, he reached out to try and grip his white collar.

"Whoa! What's wrong?"

Near stopped in his tracks, nearly making Mello run into him. Near turned to face him, an almost disgusted look on his face.

"I just got felt up in there," he couldn't help but snap. Mello raised an eyebrow. "I'm officially OCD of that boy. I'm going to go take a shower." With that, Near turned on his heels and continued to power-walk down the hall.

"Who!?" Mello called after him, as he distance began to separate them.

"You have three guesses!"

(Note - This chapter is rather corny, isn't it? Maybe I'm losing my touch, which is why I'm not getting nearly as many readers. .


	3. Sneaking

(Note - I'm not feeling well, lately, folks. When I see the artificial light of my laptop, I get these fucking migraines. I'm still giving it my best shot, but I'm mainly trying to get rid of this ughy feeling in my head and stomach. I'll probably get well soon in a bit, but I'll be just a tiny bit slower. But that'll all calm down, once I get well. Anyway, here goes.)

"Come in."

Near looked up from the book he was reading to see the doorknob to his room twist. And the door then opened, revealing Mello, a strange expression glued to his face. He immediately took a seat above Near, on his own bed, trying to read the same words that he was reading. The font was so small, the pages so thin, but the book itself to thick. He made a slight face. It was an encyclopedia.

"Why did you knock to come into your own room?" asked Near, drawing his attention back to the book. Mello grimaced, if only slightly.

"Because you've been unstable to be around lately, Near. It's only been three days since Wammy put away your toys, and--" Mello nearly jumped as he felt little claws sinking into the leg that he had dangled over the side of the bed. He opened his mouth, with the intent to cry out, until he saw what, or who, it was that had done it.

"--The hell are you doing!?" Near's hand clasped, his fingernails digging deeper, into Mello's exposed leg.

"Do _not _bring mention of my things back to my mind. With this book, I had actually forgotten about them, until you mentioned them just now."

"With an encyclopedia!?" Near's grip gradually faded, but was still very warily close, just in case.

"It has the most information that I can read about."

"Dude! Reading an encyclopedia is like reading a dictionary! It's so fucking monotonous. Shouldn't you try to read something that actually has a plot?" Near raised his other hand, and began to gently fiddle with the locks of his white hair in slight embarrassment.

"Wammy gave me this." Mello's hand reached down faster than Near's reaction could kick in, and he swiped the hulking book from Near's reach. Mello then turned on his heels, and exited the door.

"Where are you going?" Near called our after him, getting to his feet and following after him.

"I'm going to go get you a book that will actually entertain you. I don't read that much, but I read enough to know that your brain's gonna lose all of it's happiness, and it'll become like a robot." Near hooded his eyelids at this, stopping in the middle of the hall to watch Mello stalk down it.

"Is _that_ what you call it?" he called after him, his voice sounding very unimpressed. Mello opened the door to L's room and looked over his shoulder.

"I'll give you a dollar if you can give me a better way of putting it," he threw back, anger flashing across his face. Then he paused. "No, actually, I won't give you a dollar. Just come in here for a minute. There are plenty of good books in here." Near gave a hesitant sigh, but soon began to follow Mello into the room.

"This is L's room, Mello," Near retorted, hesitant to move any farther.

"I know," the other replied, walking around as if he were the owner of the room. "I've been here plenty of times."

"I haven't," Near remarked in response, tiptoeing across the floor as if L were in his midst asleep. Suddenly Mello stopped, perhaps two feet ahead of him, and turned his head over his shoulder tensely.

"Then you might want to be cautious," Mello warned in a suddenly grave voice. Near tried to keep his calm.

"Why?"

"They say that L's always in here, whether his body's in the room or not, he's always in his room. His soul never leaves. Only his body does." Mello pointed a dramatic finger at a laptop, it's screen, black and lifeless, propped up on a chair. "If you're lucky, he'll speak to you through that laptop. His soul is trapped in it." Near gulped, and regained bravery that was beginning to fade.

"I-I don't believe you." There was a long pause, and for a moment, Near almost thought he heard his heart stop, until Mello's shoulders softened, and he continued to walk across the room.

"Yeah. Neither do I. I was just trying to mess with you." Mello placed the encyclopedia on a large coffee table, lightly decorated with a china tea set, delicately crafted silverware, and strawberry shortcake, and began to head toward a small bookshelf, almost bursting with leather-bound novels of all sorts. Near joined him, after clicking on a side-table lamp, illuminating what was supposedly written on the spines of the books lining the shelves.

"L reads?" Near asked, curiously. Mello shrugged, and gingerly gripped the spine of a random book, pulling it out, and handing it to Near.

"Heck, I don't know. He's a genius, so he should have _somewhere_ that he gets his brain from." Near paused to look at the back of the book. It was a children's book. The front of the book bore the picture of a storm, dark clouds and bolts of lightning covering almost the entire page in an odd medium. Near tossed it over his shoulder, a little too hard, and it bounced against the plush carpet of the room, landing unfortunately outside of the half-open door. He grimaced, reminding himself about ten times to get that book as soon as they were done in here, and took the next book that Mello gave him. This one was much longer, and more mature than the second on. Near merely glimpsed at this one. Its title read _Philosophic Data Reviews - DNA edition_. He may read that, if it truly interested him. Near held his hand out for the next book, but his hand remained empty. Mello was staring through the next one.

"What are you looking at?" Near asked as he looked over Mello's shoulder at the print--no, wait. There wasn't any print. There were pictures. Of towering skyscrapers and slummy streets. And three other pictures. Each of a corpse. The first one on his bed, the second also on a bed, her eyes missing. The third on the floor, her remaining limbs sprawled. The other pictures in the little scrapbook consisted of Wara Ningyo nailed to walls, and more detailed pictures of these random victims, such as cut marks that had been punctured into the male victim's chest, and glasses resting in front of the second victims empty eye sockets. All of these pictures sent a chill down Near's spine, but he kept it to himself as Mello stared with deep curiosity.

"L's not a murderer, is he?" Near felt like slapping Mello for such a stupid question, but then considered his dazed state, and decided to let it slide, for now, at least.

"Why would a murderer take photos of his victims, and of what he did to them?"

"Check out these voodoo dolls!" It was almost as if Near were talking to himself. Near was about to go searching for a book by himself, when he heard a soft whine. The whine of a machine. The whine of a computer. . .a laptop. Near glanced over his shoulder, and saw L's laptop, propped open on a comfy chair beside the coffee table, it's dark screen now glistening with white background, an Old English font L centered in it. Near's eyes widened slightly. He could only imagine. . .

"And what do you two think you're doing?" came a synthetic voice from within the depths of the computer. Near heard Mello shut to book as quickly as he could, and joined Near's gaze at the laptop.

"Put it down," the voice commanded. Mello, instead, began to shove the books he had pulled out back onto the shelves. It took less than ten seconds, at the rate both he and Near restocked the shelves.

"Now leave." Mello and Near stood at the same time, clicked the side lamp off, and made a beeline for their rooms, not looking back, not daring to think of how L would respond to them sneaking into his room.

BreaK.

L gave a light sigh as he watched two young boys, their head hung slightly, moving down the hall. They were friends of Linda's, he thought. But he couldn't place their names. It didn't much matter, though. They weren't potential successors. About the same time he noticed through peripheral vision Mello and Near, running. And what a sight it was. They were probably playing a game to settle Near's nerves, he thought to himself, absent-mindedly looking down at what was clutched at his hand. He raised a brow. He had left the synthetic microphone on.

"Then that must mean I recorded that back there," he mentioned to himself. He bent down his back arched even more than it was use to, and picked up the thin book that he had sent two boys away over. He wondered to himself how in the world it got out in the hallway. Then he secretively brought it back into his room, his mind moving from that minor subject as he saw his laptop open and on, screen blaring white. He crouched, placing the children's book on top of an encyclopedia that had not been there before. He raised the encyclopedia, then let his eyes wander to his bookcase, examining how untidily the books had been set in it, and he gave the faintest of smiles.

"Near and Mello." Again, moving from one subject to another, he began tapping away at his laptop, and replayed what he had recorded with the microphone.

"Looks like the new microphone works well," he reported to himself. Then he paused for a moment, looking from his screen to the books, then thought back in history to just a minute ago, in his peripheral vision. He chuckled.

"I think I might have scared them."

(Note - If you don't get it, please let me know. I thought I would be a bit corny, and decided to put some childish horror in this chapter, just to say that I made a filler chapter. And yes, I believe that L can solve so menial and unobvious cases such as Mello and Near sneaking into his room for books. He's a fuckin' genius. But please forgive me. Studies, death, and a lot more excuses have been drawing me from my laptop, so I've been slow. But I still plan to finish this. Be patient, please.

Oh, and just to let you know, I was, indeed, bored enough to stick some random references to the BB Murder Cases, just to add to the suspense. Like there _was _any suspense. Why L would take pictures of California? I dunno. He just seems slightly like the photographer type.)


	4. Anger

(Note - Poor L. I'm probably gonna end up sticking him in here a bit more, too. Just to make filler for when I'm too lazy to remember how I interpret Matt. I'm not happy with him this afternoon. He just lit a spark of anger in my stomach. And now my stomach's on fucking fire. So as I go cool it off, go read, you nerd. No, really, and pour on the constructive criticism. I'm no Shakespeare. Believe me.)

Mello took another step back, feeling his bare heel scrape against the rough texture of the wallpaper behind him. He was about to back against the wall. How this was possible? Simple. A raging, white-haired boy with blazing eyes was shooting sharp daggers through Mello's mind with his eyes.

"This is all your fault," Near repeated, in a voice too low for his own ability, perhaps. He sounded demonic, in Mello's ears, and it made him flinch at the mere heavy breathing that escaped his gritted teeth. Mello wanted to say something, anything that would break the now deadly silence, cut only by Near's breathing, and Mello's heartbeat in his throat.

"Then just forfeit the bet, Near!" Mello managed, his elbows rubbing against the wallpaper as Near took another threatening step toward him.

"Clearly you cannot get through your head what I'm putting on the line for this bet!" Near growled, his back arched slightly, poised, as if he were about to pounce Mello. "If I forfeit this bet, you and I are going to have to have sex! On camera! And the entire orphanage is then going to watch it! Do you know how mortified we would both feel afterward?"

"Near, I--"

"No!" Near straightened, crossing his arms tightly across his chest stubbornly, his eyes like steel. "I'm not listening. Unless you're going to bring me an action figure to play with, don't speak to me." Mello felt himself lose his temper at that. He pressed from the wall, daring a step in Near's direction.

"Now you're not making any sense, Near! You're talking complete nonsense!" Near's pupils narrowed, as he took in Mello's sentence.

"Nonsense?" He took a deep breath.

"This whole damned _bet_ is nonsense!" he shouted, making Mello regress, his hands snaking behind his back. "If it weren't for you accepting Matt's--" Near's voice dropped as his eyes widened, his mouth gaped, and fury began to course through his body. Mello's hands lowered from behind his back, and revealed a Gundam action figure. Near lowered his head, and flexed his wrist muscles, clenching and unclenching his hands in and out of fists.

"I'll strangle you," he whispered icily. Mello waved it around bravely, a smirk tugging at his lips, in spite of himself.

"Don't try your luck, Mello. It's very poor," Near warned, his eyes like that of a demon, ready to kill. Mello furrowed his brows, took the robot's arm between his index finger, and his thumb.

"Try _me,_" Mello pressed, threatening to pull the robot's arm out of its socket. Mello was screaming questions of 'What in the hell am I doing!?' in his head, but the threats he was building made adrenaline pump through his veins. He hadn't insulted, or teased Near in longer than a month, and it was good to bring up an old habit. That is, until Near pounced all of a sudden, and closed fingers around Mello's windpipe. He gurgled softly in surprise, and let go of the toy, replacing his grip to Near's hands, squeezing as hard as they could around Mello's throat.

"You made a terrible move, Mello," Near hissed, his angry breath moistening Mello's reddening face. Mello could feel light-headedness take over his body, and he fought to get Near's newly strengthened grip off of his neck.

"I can see you, Near."

Near's eyes widened to the size of plates, and he backed off of Mello like a scolded puppy. He raised his eyes to meet the speaker, who had a coffee cup in his hands, filled to the brim with sugar cubes, which peeked from the top of the china cup.

"L--! You didn't. . ." L sighed, and glanced at Mello to see that he was alright, though breathing heavily and wearily.

"Don't you think it's a bit too early to be trying to kill Mello?" L asked, before taking a long sip from the coffee. Near bowed his head, until something caught his eye. Someone was behind L. A red lock of hair. A shiver went down Near's back. Matt.

"It's. . .not that early, L," Matt remarked, before revealing himself, also glancing at Mello. "It's, like. . .ten in the evening?" Mello gave a humid cough, and rubbed his neck, before standing, and backing himself against the wall, still very cautious of Near. L gnawed oh so gingerly on the porcelain cup at his lips, before furrowing two dark eyebrows, and sweeping his head to face Near.

"I think it's now Mello's turn to try and open Near's eyes to something other than his toys. Matt talked to me earlier about what he tried to do with video games, and I thought that was a splendid idea. . ." As Near locked eyes with Matt, out of sheer sub-consciousness, he mouthed the words 'go to hell', which made Matt almost crack into a smile.

". . .and I watched you, Mello, from the window, last week," L continued, gaining Mello's half-attention now. "I want you, Mello, to try to teach Near how to play a sport."

Near and Mello shared the same reaction of horror and shock.

"_--Me!?_"

"--A _sport!?_--"

(Note: Yeah. I totally crammed five minutes of a scene into two and a half pages of shtuff. X3 Oh yeah, just for your info'mation, The last two lines were Mello and Near shouting at the same time. Anyway, I'm trying to catch up. But now that I've gotten a little better, I have the new excuse of autumn in my way, so if I don't receive reviews, I won't be helped. HINT HINT NUDGE NUDGE.)


	5. Soccer Game

(Note - PSATs are over, and now I don't have to spend each and every waking moment of the day hovering over a textbook. UGH, I hate PSATs. You know that whole pressure thing you get when you wanna make high scores to get into like, Harvard, or seomthing? Yeah, that pressure was on me after about the second week of school, and I was thinking 'Everyone back Online's gonna hate me for not writing'. So I know that I'm going to lose people. It is indeed my fault. I need to work my schedule more professionally. But enough of my excuses. Here's my grovel. Fan fiction. Though this one may not be as exciting. Constructive criticism.)

Mello bent backwards, until he heard his back pop, then regained his posture, giving a soft, relieved grunt as an odd, but good feeling shot through his back in response to the pop. The whole process of stretching before the soccer game was in general very awkward, for only two reasons. One, this game had been scheduled by L. The idea of sports and L in the same sentence just didn't seem quite right to Mello, but he abided by it, and gathered a few friends to be on his team, then another group to be the rival team. There wasn't much of a crowd out today. There never was. Not everyone in the orphanage was interested in watching each other play a sport. There was a very large variety of child prodigies in the orphanage, from himself - trouble-making, conceited and mischievous - to Near - quiet, calm and usually pretty anti-social, and variety meant that there would always be someone who would disagree with you.

But speaking of Near. Mello glanced to his left in the grass, beyond the invisible line that separated the playing boundaries. And there Near sat, chin resting on hands that were resting on his propped up knee, staring angrily at him. The stare was almost having a conversation with him. It was saying to him, 'This is all your fault. I hate you." Mello had very rarely seen this face on Near. Near was always so calm. It all seemed to change after Mello had offered his friendship - and his virginity - to Near. Near had now become a bit more emotional, even around L and Wammy. And it wasn't helping matters that he was on a very hard bet, that was like quitting cigarettes after a lifetime of smoking. Regardless of the case at hand, though, Mello gave the boy a smug frown, and mouthed 'Fuck off', which in turn turned Near face from angry to twisted. Well, twisted wasn't quite the right word to use. Twisted just didn't sound Near-like. But the look still said, 'When your team loses, I think I'll laugh.'

Mello took his place on the field, aside his teammates, as L came up to the center field with a piece of paper in his hands, reading off a referee-like pep talk, such as those that you hear before a wrestling match, where the ref says, 'Now, I want a good clean fight. No blows below the belt. Don't play dirty.' It almost made Mello laugh. There was perhaps one thing that L didn't know like the back of his hand. But what really interested Mello were the things enveloping his usually bare feet. Tennis shoes. Old, worn and out of date, but nonetheless, they were, in fact, tennis shoes. It was a random thought, but for a moment, Mello didn't think that it was possible for L to wear shoes. After pepping the two teams, L produced from behind his back a soccer ball. He raised it in the air between the two teams, like a referee would do at a basketball game. The ball fell from his hands, and the next thing Mello knew there was a tangle of feet and legs from the offensive players trying to get the ball.

(Note - Forgive me for making fun at L like that. It's just that he probably knows as much about soccer as I do. And that's seriously not a lot. He knows about tennis, however, so he's got me beat on sports logic already. XD)

Mello was one of the others who took on the offensive position. He wouldn't have a soccer game any other way. He was too aggressive with the ball to stay in a confined space. He would be rather out there on the field, legs pumping away as he chased after the ball. In fact, that's what he was doing right now. He increased his acceleration as he slowly saw the person with the ball getting farther away from him. He saw a fellow team member come up on the ball holder, and suddenly the ball was going sideways, and up toward the opposite goal. Mello skidded to a stop. That was perhaps the only thing he hated about soccer. The constant switching of directions. He changed direction and sped after the ball, not to steal it, but this time to help fend off other players.

As he gained speed and caught up with the ball again, it was in the defense's zone. Mello kept a wary eye out for the ball, in case it was passed to him, as well as for the members of the opposing defense, ready to pounce him for the ball at any given time. But for right now, they were all heading for the person with the ball. Mello kept a smirk behind his lips. Stupid people. The person with the ball seemed to think so, too, as the ball suddenly escaped his possession and was passed to--him!? Mello gained his composure as fast as it was allowed, as the ball came rolling toward him. He came up on it, and eyed the goalie up ahead. It would take a few seconds for the defense to get on him, so he wanted to go ahead and make the shot for a goal. The goalie looked really, but looks could be deceiving. Mello concentrated on aim, and kicked. The ball whirred through the air, toward the top of the goal. Mello was sure that the goalie wouldn't reach it in time. But the case was that he didn't need to. The ball reached the top of the goal, and bounced down, hard, and landed right in front of the goalie, who did a slight double-take, then came on the ball, and picked it up. Mello gritted his teeth in frustration. He was so close! Out of pure instinct, he gave the slightest of glances at Near, to see his reaction. He had a very. . .well, Mello could make out if the frown was sarcastic, or disappointed, but with the matter at hand, Mello assumed that it was sarcastic. He turned and made his way angrily toward the center of he field, as the goalie got ready to kick the ball back into play.

Mello quickly became tired as the soccer game progressed. The game was a very simple game, and Wammy predicted that it wouldn't last very long, so there would have been no need for water to be provided, which made Mello extremely upset. The objective was just that whoever got two points first became winner. The current score was one to one. Mello felt like asking for a water break, but this was an actual soccer game. He was so use to playing around, and going inside for water whenever he felt like it. He grimaced, as the ball performed a similar act with the goal as it had when he had kicked it, and he wearily backed up as the goalie picked it up, ready for the ball to be kicked toward the middle of the soccer field. Mello had been glancing frequently now at Near, some of the times costing him a pass, which mortified the hell out of him. It made him think of the consequence of Near's bet if he didn't succeed. The video. If he wasn't careful, people would realize what had happened between him and Near in the past. He wouldn't know what to do if something like that happened, so Mello tried to keep it out of his brain. But regardless, Near's face remained. . .normal. Mello had been expecting Near to be sneering at his mistakes, but instead he kept a straight, calm face, like he always use to. It almost gave Mello a sense of calm, but also a sense of confusion. He would probably find out from Near later, after the game perhaps, why Near wasn't taking advantage of him right now. But in the meantime, the goalie kicked the ball more straight than he probably should have. And next thing Mello knew, he was falling to the ground, head pounding like a bass drum, and everything was getting blurry, spinning and dark. Then black.

(Note - Yeah, I'm really mean like that. But I do still have a question. Is there any slight possible chance that if you have amnesia, that you can regain your memory if you are hit in the head in the same place, or somewhere close? Let's just consider that a foreshadowing for each of you. Let your mind and teeth sink into that little question. But seriously, I'd like to know if it's true.)


	6. Hospital

(Note - So, a random little story that happened this morning. I was pouring my morning glass of milk, and today of all days, I didn't look at the expiration date on the side. I didn't smell it, either. I was dull in the head. So I sit down at the table to down it, and instantly I feel this creamy (NOT MILKY, CREAMY.) substance start to slither down my throat. You know what it was like? It was like discharge. How I know what discharge tastes like, you need not ask, dear reader. That's personal. Regardless, I've had an simply awful taste in my mouth all day, and now I can try a bit more profoundly sympathize with how Mello's feeling right now. . .I think.)

Mello saw light, perhaps only in his mind. Though he knew the saying, 'Don't go toward the light!', he had no choice, it was surrounding his peripheral vision, and strengthening his sense of sight, just a little bit. Everything was still blurry, but he could just make out a white, tiled ceiling. Where was he? He tried to move, but instantly weakness rushed though his suddenly heavy body, and he collapsed back onto whatever he was lying on. He flexed his fingers. He felt. . .sheets? Was he in a bed? But where, other than in a bed, was he? He listened, and soon, muffled, hushed voices filled the room. They weren't concerned voices, but they weren't pleasant, either. They sounded lightly annoyed. Mello forced his head to turn, and he was met with more white. Much more white. It was almost blinding in his blurry vision. What the hell was it? Mello strained his eyesight, and just faintly made out white clothing, similar to pajamas. He shifted his eyes. Someone was sitting in a chair, next to his bed. He strained more. A face just briefly came into focus before him. Pearly locks of hair. Porcelain skin, filled with dark, calm eyes. But who was that person? He looked like someone he should know, but he couldn't place a name to that gorgeous white face. Mello relaxed as he felt unconsciousness take him again, and he realized where he was. He was in a hospital.

Mello awoke again, this time, with more strength in his senses. He took in the smell of new-born babies. And disinfectant. Yup, he was definitely in a hospital. Now he wasn't greeted with the blinding white tiles on the ceiling, but by faces. More unfamiliar faces. One was clearly a doctor, by his matching white clothing and stethoscope hanging from his neck. The other, however, looked like just some jolly old man, hair slicked back, mustache long and hanging over his lips, black suit. Why was he here?

"Ah, he's awake!" the man piped up, reaching over to pat Mello's shoulder. "How do you feel, Mello?" Mello's eyes widened, and as he took a sharp inhale, a simply unbearable migraine began to course through his whole body. He brought his hands up to massage his temples, but stopped as one of his hands jerked, and pain shot through his right arm. He glanced over at it, and saw an IV taped to his hand. He gritted his teeth, gingerly rested his hands back onto the bed, and took a deep breath, trying to appease all of the pain, just for a moment.

"Okay. . ." Mello managed, after gaining a bit of calmness back into himself. He glared half-heartedly at the old man. He honestly had little respect for the elderly. "Why did you call me 'Mello'?" The man tilted his head in confusion.

"Whatever do you mean?" Mello creased his lips, and wracked his brain. Even the old man seemed just a bit familiar. Why couldn't he remember anything?

"Why did you call me Mello?" Mello repeated. "I've never been called that before. Who are you?" More confusion, now from both the man _and _him. The man hung his head, shoulders sagging, as if terribly disappointed in him. He brought his gaze next to Mello, and frowned.

"It seems that you were right, Near. I think that he has, indeed, lost his memory." Mello turned his head sideways, with a bit of effort, and saw that damned white again, only this time it didn't hurt his eyes as much. But the clothing seemed to almost reflect sunlight off of him. He grimaced, and focused on the boy's face. His eyes were calm, almost apathetic. He twirled a pearly lock of white hair between his finger.

"You don't remember our names, do you, Mello?" the boy remarked. Mello then lost his temper, despite the ever painful headache brimming in his mind.

"Well, since the old man called you Near, I'd assume. . .but that can't be your real name! It must be a nickname! What's your real name?" The two people hesitated. The boy who had been called near turned to the doctor, and nodded. The doctor left the room, and an awkward silence followed.

"Nate River. . ." the boy responded, his voice suddenly piercing the silence.

"Wammy," the old man chimed in, though Mello hadn't asked for his name. Near made eye contact with Mello, a very odd expression on his face. It looked somewhere slightly between irritation and concern. Only they were very minimal expressions.

"Any of those names ring a bell, Mello?" Mello gritted his teeth.

"No, I don't know those names! But you two sure as hell seem to think that my name's _Mello_! My name's not _Mello_, it's Miheal!" The boy beside him, who's name was either Near or Nate, made a noise between a scoff and a sigh.

"It seems he hasn't lost his personality. This is going to get us nowhere," he remarked, tugging lightly on a lock of white hair. Mello opened his mouth to make a sarcastic agreement, until Near's eyes shifted abruptly from him to the man named Wammy.

"Should we call Roger?" Mello had had enough for today. He sat up in bed, and could feel his blood pressure rise a notch, and saw the Wammy reach into his breeches pocket. _No. Not yet._

"Before you do anything, would you mind filling me in on what the _hell_ is going on here!?" Wammy seemed to ignore him, and took out a cell phone, dialing, then exiting the room, whilst pressing the phone against one ear.

"We'll explain later. There's too much to explain for us to right now." Mello brought an angry look to Near, until he saw the regretful look in the boy's eyes. He softened, but kept a straight frown on his face.

"What's up with you?" he asked, almost a bit rudely. The boy sighed, and began to fiddle with his hair again.

"I suppose this means that we have to restart our relationship from scratch." Mello raised his eyebrow.

"What did you just say?" Near brought himself down from the chair, and began to follow after where Wammy had gone.

"I'm not losing you, Mello. Not yet." The door closed behind Near, leaving Mello in the hospital room alone, with swirling confusion and emotions, none to which were good.

(Note - Yes. Mello has amnesia, in case you didn't get the hint in the last chapter. I'm probably gonna have a hard time from here on out, because I can't really envision Mello with amnesia, nor can I really envision Near walking, and or trying to re-piece together a relationship. But maybe it'll distract him from his bet. Maybe it won't. I don't know at this point. I'm at a slight writer's block. I know you guys hate those things, I hate them, too. But I need some time to think about the rest of the plot. I make my plots as I go, and usually they work out, until today. But I'll keep trying. I'll be sure to put a little more fluff in here, though it'll be coming more from Near than Mello, hence his condition. I know I'll be a bit more OOC, but again, Near's experiencing withdrawal. I can imagine almost anything will happen now. XD Again, let me know how badly I'm doing, so I can try harder.)


End file.
